They call me “Stacey”. They call me “Jane”. They call me “dude”. I understand we are not dealing enough with food in this “food” blog, but, hey, life’s tough, get a fucking Arai, ok??? They call me names. I am not whining&moaning here, I am just, quite normally, pissed with the fact that people cannot resist the temptation to say things like “hey guys!” or “hey dude!” or “yo man!”, or whatever that bunch of matter which will be exchanged for waste in a few years they have in their head will suggest them. What’s wrong with my name? Can we have an age definition and STICK TO IT, forgossake? Uh? Please? ReallyfuckingPLEASE? Like, until 18, you’re a dude. Than you’ll be a “guy”, until you’ll be 29. From 30 onwards, you are a MAN, you know, those things with BALLS attached? That one. And if you’re good, and fight hard, and kick butts and have really a shiny killer twinkle in your eyes, than you’ll be called: “Sir”. I LIKE IT. I like “Sir”. I like the hissing sound of it, it rhymes with “don’t mess with me”. I like it.